Bedside Manners
by holadios
Summary: He's a world-class diagnostician, but taking care of a sick toddler is his hardest case. Oneshot.


**Disclaimer:** I own nothing. If I did own something, I'd steal Rachel first.

**A/N:** So muse decided to right something happy and fluffy and Rachel-esque (because HOW adorable was the end of that last episode?) Enjoy!

**A/N:** Much thanks to Melissa, the pile of mush, for beta reading.

**For Pandorama.**

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"Mommy."

House jerked awake. He hadn't meant to doze off; it had just kind of happened between the bed and the warm body next to him that his arms were currently still wrapped around. He groaned, feeling the blood rush back to his arms in a wave of pins and needles. Slowly, he extricated himself from Cuddy's sleeping form. She didn't even stir – not that he had expected her to. No, he had seen to that. With the amount of sleeping pills he had mixed in her tea, she wasn't due to wake up for at least several more hours.

He felt slightly guilty, drugging her against her will, but in his defense, Cuddy would have infected the entire hospital. It was flu season, and she had somehow missed the memo that going to work at a hospital full of already sick people with a 101-degree fever was a terrible idea. She was halfway out the bedroom door when he had thrust the cup of tea into her hands, insisting that she at least drink _some_thing so her voice would sound less raspy. She'd taken it from him without a second thought.

"Mommy!" Rachel cried again. She sounded close to tears.

House swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood. As Marina had the flu herself (he supposed she was the cause of Cuddy contracting the virus), he was on self-appointed Rachel-duty. He checked his watch. It was almost noon, which probably meant lunchtime. He vaguely wondered what Rachel ate for lunch and whether or not the kitchen was stocked with something non-organic that he could eat without gagging.

But when he entered the room, Rachel wasn't sitting up, as he had expected her to be. Instead, she had burrowed herself under the covers. He could hear her whimpering from beneath the sheets. Alarmed, he darted forward.

"Rachel!"

He threw back the covers. Tears were streaming down her face. "It hurts," she cried. "Where's Mommy?"

"She's sleeping," he answered. He slowly lowered himself onto the bed, careful not to sit on her legs. "Where does it hurt?"

"Here." She pointed to her throat.

"Can I see?"

She shook her head. "It hurts!"

"I know that," he replied, a little harsher than he had intended. Rachel's face crumpled and more tears leaked out from the corners of her eyes.

"Oh, no, don't cry, don't cry," he said uncomfortably. He quickly glanced out the door to see if her cries had woken up Cuddy, but the drugs still seemed to be doing the trick. "Rachel…" He glanced around the room helplessly. Finally his eyes fell on the stuffed dog next to her pillow and he was struck by an idea.

"Hey, Rachel," he began, "can Dr. Dog see your throat?" He held up the dog and shook it in her face.

She stopped crying. "Dr. Dog?" she repeated, confused.

"Yeah, Dr. Dog," House confirmed. "He's a world-class specialist in sore throats. He just wants to take a little peek and he promises it won't hurt. See?" He opened his mouth and made the dog pretend to look inside it. "Doesn't hurt a bit." She still looked uncertain, so he tried again. "Woof-woof, woof woof woof-woof woof woof? That means 'Rachel, can you open your mouth?'" he explained.

Rachel giggled, obviously delighted the dog was barking. Obediently, she opened her mouth, and House and the stuffed dog peered inside.

It was just as he had expected – red, and very painful looking. He brought the dog up to her neck and pressed on her lymph nodes. "Woof woof?" the stuffed dog asked.

"OW!" Rachel shrieked.

"Hmm," House said as he and the dog pulled away. It was obviously the flu. He reached over to the nightstand drawer and opened it. Of course, it was empty. This was Cuddy's house, not his; she would never keep medication where Rachel could get it.

"Here," he said, tossing the stuffed dog to her. "Dr. Dog can keep you company while the pharmacy works on your prescription."

And Cuddy certainly had a pharmacy's worth of children's medications. House found them in the bedroom closet, on the highest shelf that he could barely reach, which meant Cuddy would certainly need to stand on the balls of her feet on a stool to reach. She clearly wasn't taking any chances. He rummaged around, looking for one of the flu symptoms bottles. Finally, he located one with thick purple liquid and brought it back into the room. It looked disgusting.

He unscrewed the cap and poured some of the liquid into it. It didn't smell any better than it looked. "Here," he said, offering it to her. "Drink this."

Rachel looked uncertainly from House to the dog. It was clear what she wanted him to do. "Woof-woof, woof woof woof woof?"

She smiled, and then opened her mouth. House dumped the liquid inside. He watched her carefully to make sure she swallowed it. When he thought she'd had enough time, he opened his mouth. She imitated him. He could see all the disgusting liquid was gone.

"Okay, Rachel," he said. "You just go to sleep now with Dr. Dog. You'll feel better when you wake up." He stood up before she could protest, and was halfway to the door when she spoke in the softest, most unable-to-be-ignored-without-being-the-world's-biggest-asshole voice.

"Story."

He turned around slowly, hoping he had just imagined it, but when he saw Rachel's expectant face, he knew he was trapped. "Story?" he repeated. Resigned, he strode over to the bookshelf and picked out the thinnest book he could find. He sat down on the bed again and glanced at the cover. He cringed.

"The Little Puppy Who Wanted a Home," he read aloud. It took all his self-control not to roll his eyes.

"No," Rachel said, pushing the book away. "Tell story."

"I don't know any," he said automatically. "We're reading one. It will make you smart like me someday. Oh – no – no-"

Rachel had crawled onto his lap, resting her head on his bad leg. She peered up at him with wide eyes. "Story."

He sighed, but found himself unable to push her away. She _was_ sick, after all. She had a fever and everything; he could feel how warm her head was on his leg. "All right," he conceded awkwardly. "I'll tell you a story."

She smiled at him, waiting patiently for him to begin. He noticed that she had Dr. Dog tucked beneath her arm.

He cleared his throat. "Once upon a time, there was a…a virus. His name was Bob. Bob the Virus, I guess. And he, um, decided to go on an adventure one day, to see the big world beyond his tiny home. So he set out to find a – a female virus, so that they could have lots of virus children together, who would one day grow up to be big, strong viruses who would take over the world because doctors prescribed too many medications and the viruses developed immunities to them." He checked to see if Rachel was following along, and was surprised to see that her eyes were closed already. He was pleased to see she had fallen asleep. Just as he was wondering how he could move her without waking up –

"Then what?"

_Crap._ "Then – uh – okay, so then, Bob the Virus found a new land he had never seen before. He declared himself the founder of the land and gave it a very special name. He decided to call it Rachelandia. So he planted his big ole virus foot and put up a big flag and threw a party. But no other viruses had arrived yet, so he had to have the party all by himself. And became very fat eating all the cake and ice cream.

"Then Bob the Virus built himself a home to work off all those extra calories. He wanted to prepare for all the virus children, you see. So he worked really hard and built a nice home, and soon he met a female virus, and they had lots of virus babies together, which was a divine miracle, because viruses are supposed to be asexual.

"But bad things started happening in Rachelandia. The viruses were polluting the water, and the earth, and the sky. And all the other creatures in Rachelandia, like the red blood cells and the white blood cells and the plasma started to get upset, and they complained to the brain. And the brain sent messages out to all the white blood cells and told them to arm themselves, because they were fighting a war against these nasty viruses. The white blood cells worked really hard and mass-produced, and all their work made the temperature of Rachelandia rise very high.

"When the war began, the white blood cells fought really, really hard, but they were no match for the virus family, especially not the super-virus babies. Just as they thought the war was going to be lost, a great stream of purple poured out from above. It drowned out all the viruses, and all the creatures of Rachelandia cheered. And they all lived happily ever after. The end."

He glanced down. Rachel's eyes were closed again, and he wondered if she had finally fallen asleep. He waited in silence for a few minutes, but all he could hear was her slow, even breathing. He gently brushed the bangs back from her forehead and tried to guess how high her fever was. Probably a hundred, at least. Poor kid.

It occurred to him then how very small she was, so fragile and breakable. The stuffed dog was practically the same size as her torso. Her fingers were curled around the dog's paw, which was about the size of her own hand.

She was undeniably adorable.

He realized then that his leg had fallen asleep under her weight, and his back was starting to get sore without anything to lean on. Slowly, he slipped his fingers underneath her body and moved her so that she was lying on top of his chest. He then shifted his position on the bed so he could lie down. His feet hung off the edge of the bed, like some absurd creature in a Dr. Seuss book. This wasn't going to work.

He placed his fingers underneath Rachel again and tried to slide her off of him so that she was lying on the bed instead, but as soon as he tried to pull away, her hand suddenly clenched around his shirt.

He looked at her in amazement. She hadn't even woken up. She just continued breathing, slowly and evenly, one hand wrapped around Dr. Dog's paw, and the other holding a fistful of his shirt. He carefully eased himself back onto the bed so that she was lying on his chest again. Even then, her grip on his shirt did not relax.

He sighed, hanging his feet over the edge of the bed. What did it matter if it looked ridiculous? No one would see it anyway. He checked his watch again. It was now almost one. There was definitely time for a nap.

He closed his eyes, allowing his breathing to match Rachel's. Just as he felt himself nodding off, he suddenly had the sensation of someone watching him. His eyes flew open, but Rachel was still asleep. His gaze fell upon the plastic eyes of Dr. Dog, staring up at him from underneath Rachel's arm. He glared at the stuffed animal.

"What are you looking at?"

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**A/N:** Please review; I'd love to know what you thought!


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